Life and Death in LA
by Rorylie
Summary: Dean buries one of the demons from Jaimie's past. Rated for violence. Written for lj's small fandomfest, prompt broken-lyrics by Lifehouse


"I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing

With a broken heart that's still beating

In the pain there is healing

In your name I find meaning

The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head

I tried my best to be guarded, I'm an open book instead

And I still see your reflection inside of my eyes

That are looking for purpose, they're still looking for life"-Broken-Lifehouse

It had been a long fucking week and Dean was tired. Tired of dealing with the assholes they'd been dealing with and especially tired of this asshole named Mick from Jaimie's past who got off on torturing her.

"I don't really care what you call yourself," the guy taunted, "or that you claim to have found religion with the LAPD, you're still the same little whore you always were."

Dean walked around the corner to find Jaimie with her gun out, pointed at the guy.

"You don't want to do this," he murmured. "Jaimie, put down the gun."

She shook her head, still looking right at Mick. "I should kill you right now for everything you did to me."

The guy smiled cruelly at her. "Why don't you tell your new boyfriend all about what we used to do? Tell him about how you used to sell yourself on the street. You used to let me sell you too, hell, I could get you so coked up you'd fuck four, five guys in a row and not even know it. You'd fuck two of them at the same time and not care, as long as I made sure you had something to snort up your nose you didn't give a damn what you were doing."

"This asshole isn't worth it," Dean said, stepping closer to her. "He's not worth fucking yourself up. Give me the gun."

"You always were good at playing the damsel," Mick said, "getting some guy to ride in on a white horse and rescue you. Poor little Jaimie. We both know in a year you'll be back on the street, begging me to hook you up again, whoring yourself out to me and anybody else who'll give you what you want."

"Give me the gun," Dean repeated, fighting to keep his voice soft and steady.

"When I get done with you this time," Mick hissed, "you'll be chasing that dragon for the rest of your life just to forget."

She was wavering, could see it, could see the words breaking her. Her hand was shaking, but he was just a second too slow, always a second too slow the story of his fucking life, and Mick lunged forward, grabbing the gun out of Jaimie's hands and raising it to her head when his head exploded.

Jaimie screamed and crumpled to the ground and Dean lifted her up, carrying her into the bathroom.

"It's okay," he murmured. "You're okay. I got you."

He stripped off her clothes, throwing them in the trash as he waited for the water to warm up and then lifting her under the spray.

He cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. "Look at me sweetheart. I need to go call Carter, tell him what happened, okay? Just clean up."

8888888888

"Where's Jaimie?" Carter demanded when he walked in.

"Shower," Dean answered. "She had the guy's brains in her hair, she needed to clean up," he offered.

"You guys really fucked this up." Carter shook his head. "What the hell happened?"

Dean shrugged. "The guy got her gun, he was gonna shoot her. I took him out."

"How the hell did he get her gun?"

"He was threatening her," Dean explained. "She pulled it out, he overpowered her."

"And what's she gonna say when I ask her?"

"She's a little shaken up, a guy's head just exploded all over her." Dean shrugged again. "Who knows what she'll say, she's probably in shock."

"Yeah, probably," Carter muttered. "Get out of here, go home. Let me clean this up."

"What about Jaimie?"

"I want to talk to her. Don't worry, I'll be gentle." Carter paused. "I'll make sure she's okay. I'll try to make sure you both come out of this okay."

888888888

Jaimie showed up at his play later, shaken and stumbling but mostly intact, and hell, she was alive, so that was something.

He poured her a glass of tequila before she could asked, before she actually said anything, and she took it from him, curling up on the couch and staring at him with haunted eyes.

"Are we in trouble?" she finally asked.

He shrugged, finishing his drink and pouring another. "You talk to Carter?"

She nodded slowly. "He told me what you said, about what happened."

"Just told him the truth," he said flatly, draining the glass and filling it again.

"The version of the truth where it wasn't my fault," she noted, sipping her drink and then after a moment slamming the rest of it back.

"Didn't seem relevant."

"The fact that I was gonna kill him, that didn't seem relevant to you," she said.

"You weren't gonna kill him," he muttered, refilling both of their glasses. "You were shaking like a leaf."

"I screwed up," she said, running her fingers through her hair. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Carter said he'd work it out," he answered.

"What's that even mean?"

"Means he'll take care of it and he doesn't feel like sharing the details."

"Like he ever does." She looked up at him, all sad eyes searching for answers he didn't have. "Are you okay. I mean you…you…"

"Killed a guy," he supplied. "And yeah, I've had better days sweetheart."

She dropped her glass, it hit the floor and shattered and she stared at it.

"Come here," he said, reaching for her.

She moved slowly, climbing into his lap and curling up, pressing her head to his chest. His fingers combed slowly through her hair and she looked up at him.

"Everything he said was true," she whispered. "The things I used to do, it's all true."

"I know," he sighed. "Jaimie, you told me enough about who you were, and I worked enough Narco, I know what people who live like you did do."

She blinked. "I'm not worth it."

"I'm fucked up, sweetheart. I'm damaged goods. I wasn't some prize before I met you. And I'm not now."

"So…what are you saying?" she asked.

"I'm saying I'm just a little more fucked up than I was yesterday. It's okay. Stop beating yourself up. It was worth it."

"Can we just forget it?" she asked quietly. "I just want it to be over, my past, I just want it to be in the past."

"Doesn't work like that," he sighed. "The past, it's part of who you are. You can keep running, but you can't escape it."

She sniffed, rubbing her eyes. "I don't want to be that girl any more."

"You're not." He shrugged. "But today…I can't forget what I did today, it stays with me. Everything I've ever done, it's still with me, Jaimie, just like all the things you've done are still with you. You're not who you used to be, and I won't ever let you fall that far again, but it's gonna stay with you." He held her more tightly. "I need you, I need to hold on to you, and I think you need that too. You're broken, cause of who you were, and I'm broken, and I think all we can do now is take the broken pieces we've got left and try to build something out of them."

"Like a life?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he said, kissing her tenderly, fingers tangling in her hair. "Like a life."


End file.
